Community Service Ch. 08

The backlog of dirty socks was growing mountainous. The situation was out of control. My noisome, stinky workload was unrelenting, overwhelming, and utterly unmanageable.

One thing was certain - it couldn't possibly go on, like this.

Now, some of the sock-changing, time-on-their-hands females, upon espying the availability of recliners, eagerly availed themselves of one.

Still to change their socks, occupying their recliners, some of these more malicious-minded Sock Room frequenters cruelly did so to display to me as I worked, down in my one-man laundry 'domain', the soles of their dirty socked feet.

Soon, all twelve of the Sock Room's well-padded, black leather 'Lazy-Girl' recliners were occupied.

At the moment, of the twelve reclining females, only Cheryl Chubb was barefoot.

And, as I'd come to know was usual for Cheryl, since she'd become a Sock Room denizen, the soles of her Monday-morning bare feet were dirty - days' unwashed, grimy, and overpoweringly stinky.

I felt that familiar wretched, painful thickening of my throat. Signifying, that I was in imminent danger of breaking down, and succumbing to a self-pitying bout of blubbing. Even in front of this, all-female audience.

And it wouldn't be the first time.

I'd tried to resist, tried to be brave, tried to man-up ... but, at times, it just all got on top of me.

Just like last Monday - and probably every Monday, from now on - I was going to have to 'attend' Cheryl Chubb's filthy, Monday-morning feet.

But first, I was going to have to ...

As bidden by my neighbour from hell Norma Newlove, obediently I reported to her recliner as summoned. And, complying with her personal service command to take off her dirty socks for her, I said respectfully, "Yes, Mrs Newlove."

At hearing the downtrodden, miserable-sounding monotone of my soul-crushed voice, Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb tittered and chuckled happily.

As did most of the other, newly arrived, reclining females. Girls and women, most, of whose unfriendly, gloating, goading faces - I knew well, by now.

And I dreaded them, these, frequent-user, time-on-their-hands, first-period-excused female students, and Ladies of Leisure sock-changing females ... The Sock Room brought out the bitch in them.

"You, do the work - Community servant David double-oh-seven!" snapped Norma Newlove haughtily, playing me off to her sock-changing audience as I stood and waited for her to raise obligingly one of her blue-tracksuit-bottomed legs.

Meaning that, rather than putting her to the trouble of doing so, I should lift her 'Lady of Leisure' feet, and take the weight of her bone idle legs, as I removed each of her dirty socks.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully. Which elicited another wave, of tickled-pink titters and gratified giggles from the greatly amused onlooking, comfortably reclining females.

Norma Newlove loved an audience - and the more, the merrier. Mercilessly, cruelly, she loved to play me off, to Sock Room attending girls and women.

And to the further hilarity of the watching Sock Room attending females, Norma didn't do a thing to help me - hindered me, in fact - as with comical clumsiness I struggled to perform her belittling little chore.

But finally, and despite her mischievous ankle flexing, toe scrunching manoeuvrings, I'd managed to remove both of Norma's dirty, long white socks.

I wondered if there was a Norma Newlove style tormentress in every Sock Room, who ... for some reason, was taking full advantage of the situation, and exacerbating, maliciously, her Sock Room community servant's already wretched, unspeakably miserable predicament ... I found it all too easy to believe.

At least, although somewhat stinky - permeated, at the heels and the balls of the feet and the toe areas, with a vaguely cheesy malodour - Norma's socks were still reasonably clean.

Norma had gotten into the habit, of taking home from the Sock Room on Fridays two spare pairs of the long white sport and leisure socks.

A practice, I'd noticed, adopted by many of the Sock Room attending girls and women. Which was why, on Mondays, with a snide smile on their face lots of these sock-changing females sauntered in with not just one, but three pairs of dirty socks, for me to hand-wash.

"Now, before you hand-wash my dirty socks, Community servant David double-oh-seven," said Norma Newlove, "I want you to massage my feet."

How could things get any worse?

Here we go again I thought, miserably.

"You know the drill: Stand there, Community servant David double-oh-seven, down in your miserable workplace, at the safety rail," said Norma, pointing her finger. "At the foot of my recliner."

There was no question, of refusing or resisting my across the road neighbour from hell Norma Newlove.

In these new, Femocratic times, in the Authoritarian Female Party government's female-friendly UK, if any male citizen - especially, a community servant - upon receiving a request from a female citizen, denied, disobeyed, or even demurred ... serious, drastic consequences would be sure to follow, for the foolhardy male citizen.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully ... Because I knew, the serious consequences that Norma Newlove would be sure to bring to bear: She would snatch up the Sock Room's internal phone, dial 01, to connect to CSOs Karen and Linda's office, and ...

I descended the six wooden steps.

And in compliance with Norma Newlove's order, I stood in front of the bare brick wall at the two-barred safety rail, at the foot of Norma's recliner - the nearest, to the six wooden steps, on my right-hand side of the 'Spectators' Gallery' overlook.

It was going to be a long, long day, I thought wretchedly, as now I saw more, standing, sock-changing girls and women coming over to watch my humiliation ... and, to enjoy the notorious Norma Newlove's showing off: Her famed (and, by some Canford females, celebrated) Sock Room community servant baiting.

By now, at the start of the Sock Room's fourth week since its much trumpeted grand opening, the sock-changing females of Canford were coming to regard my neighbour from hell Norma Newlove as Queen of the Sock Room.

And, esteemed in almost equally high regard by many Sock Room attending females, were the uncongenial Gina Stainham and the uncherubic Cheryl Chubb - Norma's sister Sock Room princesses.

"Start with my left foot, Community servant David double-oh-seven," commanded Norma Newlove, like a queen talking down to some, no-consequence, no-account, lowly palace serf. And, a lowly palace serf, at that, who's one and only raison d'etre, was to attend and serve at the feet of his royal mistresses, and of their female entourage.

As if she thought I might not know my left from my right, Norma helpfully raised her bare left foot. And, as if thinking that further direction might be needed, Norma signally scrunched her toes.

Yes, Queen Norma, Your Majestic Royal Highness, I thought ... But didn't say.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully. To another, soul-destroying elicitation of delightedly amused titters and chuckles, from Norma's appreciatively responding audience - from the watching, time-on-their-hands, nothing-better-to-do Sock Room attending girls and women of Canford.

Norma liked the sun, and I had to admit: she did tan beautifully.

But the glamorous, glorious suntan that Norma had sported upon returning home from her recent Florida holiday, and that had made her skin glow like burnished gold, was fading now. The soles of her slender, shapely feet, now only lightly tanned.

Maybe Norma would take herself off on another of those AFP-subsidised sunshine holidays - with UK-based Sunshine Holidays. And hopefully, she would fly away to top up her tan soon!

It had been the Sunshine Holidays travel firm, that Norma had holidayed with recently. And I remembered her laughing, about ... something.

There had been something; an unusual occurrence - on both of her flights - that had tickled her half to death. Something, about the airline's Air Purification Technicians.

Whoever they were, Norma said that the Air Purification Technicians were now operating (and Norma had laughed at that, when she'd said: 'operating') on all Sunshine Holidays aircraft. And, that they were now operating on all flight destinations: short, medium - and, from only recently, even long-haul.

On Norma's toes, I noticed, she was wearing her usual cherry-red nail polish. That, from the day I'd complimentarily told her that I thought it was 'her colour' - because it set off her dark-brown eyes, and complemented her lustrous long black hair, and went so well with her gorgeous deep suntan - she'd unfailingly favoured the shade, ever since.

From my own, lower-level side of the Sock Room, I stood positioned at the foot of Norma Newlove's recliner. And very carefully, I took hold of Norma's left foot - I didn't, just, carelessly grab hold of it, as if it was just any old person's foot; oh no - this was Queen Norma, after all.

It was an awkward business, using my hands at my head's height. But I persevered as best I could.

"Don't stop until I tell you, Community servant David double-oh-seven," instructed Norma Newlove.

Yes, Norma: I know the drill, I thought ... But didn't say.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully - just as, who should enter the Sock Room, but no lesser personage than the very woman who had assigned me to the dreadful establishment: The Community Service Liaison Officer, and local Authoritarian Female Party official, and MP for Canford - Ms Harriet Harmman.

"What sort of foot massage do you call this - Community servant David double-oh-seven?" snapped Norma Newlove derisively, belittling my efforts right from the get-go, as from the corner of my eye, I watched Ms Harmman, assessing the state of affairs in the Sock Room.

"Press more firmly - Community servant David double-oh-seven!" admonished Norma, as Ms Harmman made her way over to us. "Get your thumbs working!"

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully, as by now Ms Harmman was standing by, and looking on.

"Massage my right foot, now, Community servant David double-oh-seven," said Norma, after a couple of minutes.

I heard the familiar, crinkly sound, as one of the reclining onlooking females noisily opened another bag of crisps.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully. And I gently returned her left foot to the foot of her recliner, and carefully I took hold of her right foot.

CSOs Karen and Linda now appeared on the scene: Ms Harmman must have advised my two young supervisors that she was coming over to see them, I thought.

"So - Community servant David double-oh-seven!" said Ms Harriet Harmman, as I worked my left and right thumbs counterclockwise and clockwise, respectively, into the ball of Norma Newlove's right foot.

"So, this how you've let the Sock Room get into such a state: I come in here, and what do I find? Instead of getting on, and hand-washing all of these hundreds of dirty socks, you are spending all of your time - playing with ladies' feet?"

"No, Ms Harmman - no! It's not like that! It's Mrs Newlove! She ... keeps-"

"Concentrate - Community servant David double-oh-seven!" ordered Norma Newlove. "Left foot again, now. And press more firmly!"

"There is nothing more unmanly," Ms Harmman told me, shaking her head in mock disappointment and sadness, "as a community servant, trying to attribute the blame for his ineptitude and inadequacies, to a lady."

Ah ... what's the point? I thought.

This was just all one big, AFP joke.

A huge, female-devised, female-participant - female-conspiracy - joke.

The big joke, that community servants like me were the butt of.

But there was no question, of my saying 'No' to Norma.

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully, as I gently returned her right foot to the foot of her recliner, and carefully took hold of her left foot again.

"Community servant David double-oh-seven," said Ms Harmman, as firmly I rotated my thumbs into the bottom of Norma Newlove's left heel. "It can't possibly go on, like this."

"Switch back to my right foot, Community servant David double-oh-seven," instructed Norma. "And now, do my arch. But don't press quite so hard. Firmly - but just not, quite so hard."

"Yes, Mrs Newlove," I said respectfully.

Ms Harmman said sternly, "Until you have cleared this appalling backlog of dirty socks, Community servant David double-oh-seven, you'll work Saturdays."

"Yes, Ms Harmman," I said respectfully as now, at this latest cruelty, I felt a tear of abject, utter wretchedness seep from my right eye.

But there was no point, in arguing. Nothing to be gained, in talking back: it would only lead to more cruelties. To more tears.

"All day, Saturday," clarified the Community Service Liaison Officer, uncompromisingly.

"Yes, Ms Harmman," I said respectfully.

"And, you will do it, for no extra remuneration," added the local Authoritarian Female Party representative, authoritatively.

"Yes, Ms Harmman," I said respectfully, as now, with the tears of misery freely coursing down both cheeks, I continued to work my thumbs, rotating them firmly - but not, too hard - into the arch of Norma Newlove's right foot.

"Yippee!" yelled Cheryl Chubb gleefully. "From now on, our footboy is going to be working on Saturdays!"

"Yay! Saturday-opening!" cried Gina Stainham. "And, if ... for some reason, double-oh-seven can't clear his backlog, maybe Ms Harmman will make him work Sundays, too!"

With a wink - that she clearly intended me to see, so that I'd be in on the 'joke' - Ms Harmman replied, "Well, Mrs Stainham ... If Community servant David double-oh-seven can't concentrate on the important work I put him in here to do, and reduce his shocking backlog within the next two weeks - at least, to the extent that his workload is contained within all of the dirty-sock receptacles, and with the lids all closed - well, Mrs Stainham, I'm afraid it may come to that."

If their joyful, pleasureful cries of approval were any indicator, all of the other sock-changing females present, too, thought it was an excellent idea for Ms Harmman to extend my normal, Monday to Friday working week, and make me work on the weekends, too.

Especially, Norma Newlove.

"Wahey!" whooped my exultant across the road neighbour from hell. Her ecstatic, celebratory outpourings, much louder and more heartfelt, than those emitted by any other Sock Room attending girl or woman.

Momentarily, Norma raised her right foot from my pampering, still massaging hands to wiggle her toes at me in a taunting gesture of gleeful triumph - but only momentarily: she wanted me back in service.

Mrs Newlove was jubilant, ecstatic, blissful ... While my emotions, were the exact opposites.

It was yet another, crushing and catastrophic, devastating and demoralising victory that Norma Newlove was chalking up against me.

Ms Harriet Harmman said, "Community servant David double-oh-seven. On Saturday morning, you will report to the Sock Room at eight o'clock. And you shall continue to do so, every Saturday from now on until I tell you differently. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ms Harmman," I said respectfully.

Because there was no point, in arguing. Nothing to be gained, in talking back.

Ms Harmman went on, "I shall send one of my CSOs to open the Sock Room. And another CSO will come by in the afternoon to lock up at five-thirty."

"Yes, Ms Harmman," I said respectfully.

Ms Harmman plundered on, "On Saturdays - and, on Sundays too, should it ... come to it - you will work unsupervised. After all ... I can rest assured, as to your motivation."

I saw a look, pass between my two young supervisors ... And to my deepening despair, I knew what it meant.

CSO Karen said, "Um, Ma'am. If there's any overtime going ..."

"Overtime, CSO Karen?"

"Yes, Ma'am. CSO Linda and I would welcome the chance to earn some extra money."

"But of course, CSO Karen. And, it goes without saying, that you and CSO Linda will be very generously remunerated. Of course, had I known you wanted it, I would have offered the overtime to you at once. But, as you are both already putting in a hard, Monday to Friday full working week, I'd thought ..."

CSO Linda said, "And, if it ... comes to it, Ma'am, CSO Karen and I would be available to work overtime on Sundays, too."

"Really? Naturally, you and CSO Karen would be rewarded extremely well, for working Sundays, too, if it ... came to it. But ... but why?"

CSO Karen said, "Ma'am, CSO Linda and I would like to be able to retire before we are thirty."

"But you could both retire right now if you wanted to," said Ms Harmman. "I mean, just claim the Ladies' Living Allowance. You can live quite comfortably on that."

CSO Linda said, "Yes, Ma'am. But CSO Karen and I want to go to the sun."

"The sun?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said CSO Karen. "We were thinking the Canary Islands."

"Oh. Oh, I see," said Ms Harmman. "Well, in that case, I can see why you'd want to put in the overtime. And that won't be a problem: there's always overtime available, for those CSOs, who want it. But I can tell you now, CSOs Karen and Linda: the AFP would be very sorry to lose you, at just thirty years of age. Very sorry, indeed. But, who knows - perhaps by then, you'll have had a rethink?"

Their faces colouring a little, CSOs Karen and Linda, deflecting, just said, noncommittally: "Ma'am."

From what I'd heard, during some of our prework-coffee footrest routines, I didn't think my two young Sock Room supervisors were going to rethink their early-retirement, going-to-the-sun plans.

CSOs Karen and Linda needed the overtime money, to be able to afford the considerable costs of setting themselves up in their dream apartment, and to have sufficient funds in their bank accounts to live comfortably and without any financial concerns, on their sun-drenched island of choice.

But, just then, CSOs Karen and Linda were saved from further uncomfortable conversation on this touchy topic with Ms Harriet Harmman, when an attractive young woman with black hair and brown eyes, and wearing blue overalls with the familiar sport and leisure socks logo over the right breast pocket, entered the Sock Room and announced cheerily: "Socks r Us!"

Ah, good, I thought: At least now, Norma would have to let me go, in a minute.

Smiling in greeting, CSO Linda said familiarly, "Hi, Stella. Be with you in a sec. Got much for us today, Stel?"

"Yeah, Lindz. I've got another big delivery for you in the van," said Stella.

Reading from her delivery invoice, Stella said, "Mostly, it's those long white sport and leisure socks - the ones that you are getting through so many of," said the lady Socks r Us delivery van driver. "But I've also got for you two more consignments of Girls' School uniform socks: black, for St Esmerelda's, and navy blue, for St Kate's. And I've also got another thousand-pair consignment of the thin cotton yellow ankle socks, that you CSOs wear."

CSO Karen said, "That's great, Stel. Because Sock Boy can't keep up with demand - ha ha ha! As you can see, Stel ... you're just in time: The shelves are almost empty."

Ms Harriet Harmman said, "Stella, dear, would it be too short notice, do you think, to have another, similar size order of the long white sport and leisure socks delivered on Friday?"

"No problem at all, Ms Harmman!" replied the attractive lady Socks r Us delivery van driver brightly - so brightly, in fact, it made me wonder if Stella was getting a sales commission.

"Ah, good, Stella," said Ms Harmman. "Because I think we'll be needing them. With the commencement, this coming Saturday of our new Saturday-opening hours, the Sock Room is sure to be extra busy."

"Um ... I can see double-oh-seven's busy," said Stella, watching her 'little helper' massaging the reclining Norma Newlove's right foot.